Voodoo - In the Weeds

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

From Salamank to the vicinity of the Long Eighty is about a ninety-mile trip. It's rough territory, but for the first day or so's travels it could've been worse. Yeah, the land out here suffered in the aftermath of the War, but this was never primary or even secondary target territory, so most of what's gone wrong here is the result of black rains and fallout on the wind rather than direct hits and immediate contamination. There's more trouble from the mutated wildlife in the region than anything else, too. The Senecas, it appears, do what they can to keep the local raiders down. Maybe they haven't got the numbers they would've liked, but for the area relatively close to Salamank, they do about as well as anyone could hope.

But that's the first day's travel, and unless Voodoo has caffeine pills or something in that pack of his, it's gonna be at least a two-day trip. And things start getting uglier the closer he gets to the remains of the old highway.

Comments

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The man goes quiet, nodding; the woman moves forward, shotgun at the ready.

If this is their chance at revenge she sure as hell doesn't intend to blow it.

[boston_bruiser]

It's not far to the houses, distance-wise. The vegetation makes for good concealment as they get closer, and Voodoo takes the fork uphill. Every step is measured, silent.

It's not long before they reach an overlook of sorts. Slowly, Voodoo holds up a closed fist and takes out his binos.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The houses here have crude fortifications around each property line. Sandbags, mostly, and concrete rubble. A few guard dogs roam the general area, but three bigger, healthier-looking animals are positioned inside the makeshift walls around the largest of the houses.

They're not the only guards, though. Unlike the area Voodoo wormed his way into, this part of the territory has a couple of humans taking watch; they're positioned on rooftops, and it only takes a little work with the binoculars to spot the assault rifles they all seem to have as their primary armaments. One or two of them are smoking, which can't possibly be good for their vision as the sky darkens, but what can you do.

The woman touches Voodoo's arm silently and points towards the last house visible on the street. "That's where they keep most of the slaves," she says. "There's gonna be guards on the doors there. If you can't see them, they're inside so nobody gets any ideas."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo grunts. It's going to be tricky, with this many houses this close together. They've stood the test of time well.

He takes the binos off his eyes, looking over toward the men.

"You two," he says, pointing, "take the slave house first. Me and her are hitting the big one."

He stows his binos before going prone, checking his watch.

"Settle in. It's going to be a long wait."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Whatever you say, pal," says the younger man. "I'm ready when you are."

The old man just settles himself down against the ground and contents himself with sighting down the barrel of his gun a couple of times. You know. Just in case.

And the woman shakes her head but copies Voodoo's position, because he knows what he's doing better than they do.

[boston_bruiser]

Darkness falls quickly on the wastes. No moon out tonight - so much the better.

Hours go by. One by one, all but one of the sentries falls asleep. One of these raiders, in the big house from the sound of it, has a snoring problem - it's audible even from here.

Voodoo flips his NODs down over his eyes and checks his watch. 0155. Late enough.

He pats the woman's shoulder. "Time to go to work."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The woman smiles briefly and readies her weapon. There is absolutely no love lost between her and the current occupants of... well, any of these houses, really.

"Lead the way," she murmurs. "I can't see too well in the dark, but I'll follow."

[boston_bruiser]

On the other side of Voodoo, the men are getting ready, checking their weapons and such.

"I'll get the sentries first."

He moves into a sitting position, shouldering his carbine and looking down the sights.

thwock.

(That's the one still awake.)

thwock.

(Sleeper number one.)

thwockthwock.

(Sleeper number two.)

"All clear. Move up."

He stands up, quickly and quietly making his way down to the big house.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The younger man moves a little uncertainly, but his older companion seems to either know what he's doing or to draw inspiration from the desire for revenge; he starts ahead for the slave house immediately, making a point of keeping well out of any windows' lines of sight and avoiding the dogs. Eventually, not wanting to be left behind, the younger man follows.

The woman pads along after Voodoo, periodically turning to sweep the nearby darkness just in case someone or something managed to come around from behind and get the drop on them.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo takes his last flashbang off his vest, taking the pin and lever in hand. On either side of the door are large, remarkably intact windows, looking into what looks to be a living room. Most of the raiders have laid down to rest here, their weapons laying haphazard on the floor.

"The window. Bust it."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The woman nods, and starts to fish a bandanna out from under her top; then she stops and looks down ruefully. When you've got a combat shotgun in hand there's no point to trying to protect your fingers from flying glass, is there?

One gun butt to the glass window, comin' right up.

[boston_bruiser]

It's late, real late, and raiders aren't the most disciplined lot - which is why the glass shattering doesn't draw more than a few half-awake bwuh?s.

"Look away 'n cover your ears."

In goes the flashbang, and-

POP!

"Shit!"

"Goddamn it!"

"What the fuck?!"

One donkey-kick to the door later, and it practically flies off its hinges. He pivots inside, carbine up - if it looks like a raider, it's getting killed.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

She's going to have some trouble with one of her ears later on- she wasn't fast enough with her hands- but the woman obeyed otherwise, all the better to get in on the action. The raiders who'd been holed up in here are scrambling for their weapons as best they can, but that's kind of a relative thing given their current condition. It's entirely likely that the most resistance they'll put up is from the one guy who got his hands on a stash of old beer bottles, and who's trying to throw them in the direction of anything he thinks he perceives as coming his way.

[boston_bruiser]

In the distance is another POP! - the slave house has been breached. The camp is stirring, slowly but surely.

This room is barely even a challenge to clear - the raiders are concussed out of their tiny little minds, and the breachers have every advantage. Beer-bottle guy dies first, and dying last is a spiky-haired fellow sprawled by the remains of a couch, clawing for his pistol.

"Room clear! Upstairs, double-time!"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Moving," answers the woman, who's scrambling to keep up. She can shoot, and she's all right at it, but it's pretty obvious that this isn't a person who's spent copious amounts of time preparing for a combat situation. Still, she's trying. And she does a pretty good job of making the big bruiser waiting at the top of the stairs into the pile of former big bruiser at the bottom of the stairs, too. Some people just don't pay enough attention to leg protection.

[boston_bruiser]

Knees are a privilege, as they say.

Upstairs is the master bedroom - no door here, and the hinges are rusting.

What is here are three "regular" raiders shouting at each other and scrambling for their guns-

-and two genuine, honest-to-God freaks of nature, clad in spiked metal armor. The closer of the two stands at Voodoo's height, but looks to be about three-fifty pounds of solid muscle, and the other easily breaks seven foot and four hundred. The bigger of the two yells something and hefts his super sledge, and the other grunts, throwing a haymaker at Voodoo's head.

Breaking the blow with his arm feels like stopping a freight train on his knuckle. Quickly, Voodoo grabs the raider and executes a hip throw, and the house shakes as he slams down onto the floor, gasping for breath.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Now for the most part, super sledges are an open-area weapon requiring quite a bit of space for a proper swing. If you're willing to sacrifice a certain amount of momentum, though, you can choke up your grip and bring that head around in a much smaller arc; it won't hit as hard, but it'll still hit a good deal harder than fists alone.

You still have to step into range for that, though, so if Voodoo moves quickly enough he might just make it out of the way in time...

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo's nimbler than he looks - really, he is. SEALs tend to be pretty small and light on their feet - they have to be, to fit into ships and submarines.

Which is why the dude with the super sledge might be surprised at how quickly Voodoo ducks and rolls out of the way, coming up on his outside. There's a brief, panicked yell from the dude on the ground as the sledge comes down on his head-

-and then a nasty wet squelch. Chunky Salsa rule is very much in effect.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

With the Bloody Mess perk, characters and creatures you kill will often explode into a red, gut-ridden, eyeball-strewn paste. Fun! Oh, and you'll do 5% more damage with all weapons.

Well, that's a mess and no mistake, and the other raiders in the room- remember them? They haven't been shooting, but they're still there- are suitably put off by it. The guy who was wielding the super sledge, though, is now just plain mad. There's neither room nor time to wrench his weapon free, so he brings up one massive knee in the fastest strike that much muscular bulk can manage.

[boston_bruiser]

An admirable effort. Still too slow.

Voodoo breaks the blow before lifting the offending leg up and sweeping the other one out from underneath the raider. Gravity's one mean mother - he slams to the floor with a grunt, and Voodoo flips him over onto his stomach before taking hold of his foot and-

-oh my. We're pretty sure it should be pointing 180 degrees in the other direction.

But that's not all. Voodoo brings his boot up and-

-oh, so that's what it's like to have your ankle and femur broken a half-second apart!

(We're betting it hurts. A lot.)

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

It does. It really does.

However, the other uglies in the room have little to no sympathy for the big fella's pain now that their lines of fire have opened up, and while they're not great shots, they tend towards the 'fill the air with lead and something will get hit' school of thought.

[boston_bruiser]

A bullet zings past Voodoo's ear - no time to bring his carbine up. He needs to shoot now.

His pistol is still sitting in his chest rig. It's the simplest thing to draw, line up on the raider closest to him, and fire.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

It got loud in here all of a sudden. Real loud. Between Voodoo, the other raiders, and the woman who's been waiting for a chance to cut loose with her shotgun without hurting Voodoo, there's enough gunfire going on in here to cause an awful lot of hearing damage.

On the other hand, the woman's pretty fast with her shotgun, so she drops two of the raiders before they can do lasting harm to much of anybody, and Voodoo's pistol was designed for more or less exactly this situation- and he has more practice than these assholes.

So it gets quiet fairly shortly, is what we're saying.

[boston_bruiser]

Well, except for the big guy's moaning and groaning. Honestly, you'd think they were the first bones he'd broken, judging from his bitching.

THWOCK.

Tomahawk to the back of the head - just what the doc ordered.

"Back outside," Voodoo grunts, wrenching the blade out of the raider's skull and wiping it on his pantleg. "We're just getting started."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"They didn't hit you, did they?" says the woman. Apologetically she adds, "I wasn't keeping track."

(She's headed back down the stairs already, but she did feel the need to ask.)